Killing Buffy Summers
by MixItUp
Summary: After being dumped by Dru, Spike hunts down Buffy in LA with the intent to kill. Principally Spike/Buffy, but with Spike/Drusilla and Buffy/Angel. AU from the end of season 2. Multi-chap; in-progress. HIATUS.
1. Prologue

Killing Buffy Summers

Prologue: Just A Little Girl

* * *

"Spike?"

Her voice came drifting out of the passenger seat so gently and quietly that he almost thought he'd imagined it.

"Spike?"

But there it was again. He spared a glance from the road to see Drusilla gazing at him through her hazy eyes. She licked her lips languorously. "Where are you taking me? Why are we leaving?"

"It's for your own good, pet," he said tightly, returning his eyes to the darkness outside. "And mine, too. Can't stay in that bloody town any longer."

She didn't reply, just closed her eyes again and touched the glass of the window like a lover.

Spike clenched his teeth and turned the radio up another notch.

* * *

After a couple of weeks, he decided that Brazil was nearly as bad as Sunnyhell, but at least they didn't have a Slayer. No nosy bint to pounce in at mealtimes with her whole holier-than-thou attitude. God, he was so glad to be away from that sideshow.

Dru had gotten better, at least in body. She was real into the local flavor, thought the food gave the blood more taste, but she'd only eat when he'd bring it home. When he asked her why, she'd only sigh and say, "Even the pearls and the swine feel Angelus' grief." Whatever the hell that meant. He figured she was feeling a hint better, though, because she had started playing with her food again.

On an unusually lucid day, Drusilla looked him right in the eyes. Nearly knocked him over—he thought her pissy fit had at least another week left in it. "Spike," she said, in that irresistible voice. "Would you do Mummy a favor?"

A slow smile took over his lips. Her good moods were like…well, he'd compare them to sunshine, but he hadn't been much for that in a century or so. Still, she shone just as bright. "Anything for you, love," he purred in response.

Lithe as a cat, she slipped herself on top of him and stretched out her fangs. Spike took hold of her waist and allowed his own game face to make its appearance. She growled softly, eyes dancing.

"Spike," she said again, drawing out his name into a song. "Tell me something."

"What do you want me to tell you, pet?"

She repositioned herself to touch more of him. "Tell me what happened…with you and the Slayer."

Spike pulled back. "Nothing happened, baby. What are you talking about?"

Dru pouted, taking back her pretty fangs into her mouth. "_You_ know," she said petulantly.

"No, I don't," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

"She's _tainted_ you," Drusilla whispered, very close to him. His arms slipped further up her back.

"I only worked with her, pet, that's all. Like I told you. I had to, to save you!" Spike narrowed his eyes.

"Oh…save me, from darling Angelus. Tell me again that you didn't kill him, Spike."

"For the last time," he said testily, "I didn't kill him, Dru. That was all the Slayer's doing."

Drusilla sighed again, wriggling on his lap. Then, leaning forward, she licked his neck sensuously. His lips curled back into a smile as she kissed all the way up to them, but then he felt her frown against them. She pulled back.

"Then why do I taste his blood?" she cried, dizzily throwing herself off of him. Spike rose, following her as she tore through the room.

"Dru! You're not tasting Angelus' blood, that's just the Brazilian bloke I ate earlier! I'll give you, they had the same ponce hairdo, but it wasn't him, pet."

Comfortingly, he reached his arms around her, but she shoved him off. Her breathing was heavy.

"You taste like the one who killed Angelus. Your little traitors told me as much, Spike. You're not a proper demon anymore!" Her voice was frantic. "You're not _mine_."

"What are you talking about, love?" he asked in a low tone.

"She's all over you. Why didn't I smell her before? You covered her up with the cigarettes and the flowers you brought me—" (she gestured to the long-since-dead blooms in a vase) "—but she was there all along, all over you! All over you!"

"Who?"

"The Slayer. On your lips," she pronounced.

Spike frowned, genuinely confused. "Dru, you've been mixed up. I never kissed the bloody—"

"Not yet," she interrupted, staring off at something only she could see. "But you will, Spike. You _love _her. Her with her dirty hands, the hands that killed Angelus, and you love her." Drusilla scrubbed at her own hands as if that would clean Buffy's.

"Dru, Dru," he said again, holding her shoulders to steady her. "Where the _hell_ are you getting this? I am not in _love_ with the bloody Slayer, for God's sake! I'm in love with _you_."

"Hush those lying lips," she whispered back. "Nothin' but trouble." Twisting, she pushed him off again.

Furious, Spike grabbed the vase and threw it at the wall. It shattered, making a satisfying racket. "Dammit, Dru! I am not in love with her!"

"Then why won't you look at me when you say it?" she hissed back. With all the strength she could muster, Drusilla hit him, sending him flying. "I didn't want to believe them, the ones in my head, but they were right. Spike, they were right!"

Dru leaned against the wall and slid down, tears pouring out her eyes. "They were right," she mumbled again. "Right all along."

Spike made his way back over to her and knelt down gingerly. "Dru…love…"

She hit him again, ineffectually. "Get out," she sobbed.

Taking one last look behind him at the broken vase and hysterical vampire, Spike sniffed, grabbed his duster, and walked out the door. If he'd been the praying type, he would have thanked any deity you like—night had fallen as they argued. He didn't too much fancy combusting, although an end to his unlife seemed almost pleasant at this point. Wiping furiously at his damp eyes, he growled to the night sky, "I'll kill that Slayer for this. That'll prove it to Dru. I'm still a…a proper demon, no matter what she thinks. I'll show her."

That pronouncement made, he stalked off into the night.

* * *

_Endnotes_: This story will be ten chapters, not counting the prologue and epilogue. The soundtrack will be available song-by-song on my tumblr as I update, and then in complete form after I finish. Each update is accompanied by and named for a song—this one is "Just A Little Girl" by Trading Yesterday.


	2. Chapter 1

Killing Buffy Summers

Chapter One: Misery Loves My Company

* * *

Spike didn't need to breathe, but that didn't stop him from taking a nice long whiff of the California air. Smelled like Slayer and all her little gang, all right, but the air was surprisingly still. Frowning, he strode into Willy's and knocked on the counter.

"Spike!" the bartender exclaimed, looking none too pleased to see him. "They, uh, they said you skipped town."

"Well, I s'pose I'm back," he said dryly. "Make it something strong, Willy. I've got a Slayer to catch."

Willy hurried to grab a bottle, hands shaking. Spike raised an eyebrow and slid onto a stool. "What aren't you telling me, mate?"

"What? Nothing. You know me, I'm an extrovert, you know, real honest, always up front with—"

He squeaked as Spike pinned him with a glare. "What is't, Willy?" He took a long swallow. "Don't tell me some other nasty got to her first."

"No, no, uh, nothing like that. But there's been talk…" Willy looked aside and gulped, exposing his veins. Spike was suddenly aware of his uncomfortable thirst. "She's not here, anymore."

"What? Where the hell'd she get off to?" he demanded, downing some more. "On vacation?"

It'd figure. That entitled bitch would probably think she had the right to it after killing the "big Bad". Well, she had another think coming. Angelus was nothing next to him, he'd prove it to her right enough.

"Maybe. I don't know. She's been gone since…well, Angelus…and you…"

"Great," Spike said, and sighed. "Just bloody fantastic. No leads?"

The bartender shrugged nervously. It was extraordinary how rat-like the man was. "Not even her little gang knows where she is, honest. It's like she disappeared into thin air."

Spike tapped a finger against his mouth before standing again. "It'll just add to the thrill," he said to himself. "While I'm here, might as well grab a bite."

Willy's eyes widened and he stepped back from the bar.

"Not you, mate," Spike said impatiently. "I want something with a bit more…character." His eyes lit up. "Maybe one of the Slayer's little friends. Send a message, you know, even if they don't know anything. Always fancied the look of that redhead, even mousy as she is. Got a feeling there's a bit more to her, yeah?"

Willy only nodded.

"Right," he said, convicted now. "Well, I s'pose that's that."

Willy looked to the side again. "Uh…well, Spike, I just…don't want to set an example. The drink…costs, well, that is to say, I can't provide a service like—"

"Stuff it." He slipped down a bill and swaggered out the door, tipping back the last of the bottle as he went.

* * *

Willow hummed to herself as she walked home from the Bronze. To her girlfriendly dismay, it was a full moon, so she was completely Ozless. Still, she'd had a good time with Xander at the club. It had been like old times, just them hanging out. It was…nice.

She froze up when she heard a noise before immediately assuming her what-would-Buffy-do position. Sliding her hand into her coat, she withdrew a small stake. Her eyes darted around, fervently searching for the source of the sound. Willow's other hand cupped the bottle of holy water concealed in her pocket.

"Are you too scared to come out and face me?" she asked, trying to sound braver than she felt. Her hand closed tighter around the stake. "You know what, that's fine. You don't have to face me. I mean, you're just a cowardly vampire—or, or demon—or something like that. You're not worth my time."

Suddenly, two dark arms encircled her, one at her waist and one covering her mouth. "Maybe I'm not worth your time, sweet, but you're worth mine."

Willow wanted to spit, "Spike", as Buffy would have, but that was on the difficult side when he was gagging her with a hand. She settled for the next best thing: biting him.

"Hey, watch it," he said, voice tickling her ear. "That's supposed to be my job."

Breathing heavily, Willow managed to jab him in the stomach with the stake. His surprise gave her room to escape his grip, and she stumbled back, still clutching the stake like her life depended on it.

Cause, you know, it kinda did.

The vampire regained his composure, straightening his leather duster as he exclaimed, "Didn't expect to see you armed and dangerous, Red. 'Course, with no Slayer to protect you…"

She gritted her teeth in an effort to appear tough. "So you heard."

"So, where is your little mate?" he said with false camaraderie. "What was so important to her that she thought it'd be okay to run off and leave her little group. What do you call yourselves, again? Oh yeah, that's right. The Scooby gang. Not so dangerous without your leader, are you?"

He came closer with every word until she was backed up against the mailbox. "We've been doing just fine," she said weakly.

"Good to hear," Spike murmured. "Wish I could say the same for myself. Still," he added, predatory grin creeping over his lips, "I think drinking you might cheer me up a little bit." He allowed the grin to transform into his game face.

Willow slid off the side of the mailbox. Panic scribbled on her face, she yanked out the bottle of holy water and thrust it forward. Spike growled and gave chase, but she hightailed it up to the door and slammed it. "Stay out of Sunnydale, Spike," she yelled through the glass.

He sighed loudly. "What does a man have to do to get a decent bite around these parts?"

The clicking of high heels turned his head, and he watched rapturously as a juicy blonde strutted by. "Now, that's more like it," Spike muttered, running his tongue over sharp fangs before heading out for the hunt.

* * *

Jamming a cassette tape into his tired stereo, he peered out the window like it'd give him some clue. "If I were the Slayer, where would I be?" the vampire mused aloud. "Where would I go to be safe and sound from the cruel cruel world?"

Spike sighed and punched the steering wheel with frustration. "Should've finished the job after she said bye-bye to Angelus. When she was weak and…and where she's bloody supposed to be! Who does she think she is, traipsing all 'round the bloody country! Stupid bint. Slayer's s'posed to be at the Hellmouth bein' all heroic and whatnot. God."

Idly, he turned the volume higher. "Dru needs to screw her head on straight. If it weren't for her and _darling Angelus_, I'd've sucked the Slayer dry by now, but instead Goldilocks is playing at Carmen bloody Sand—" He stopped. Something was niggling at his brain, all right.

Slayer'd lived in LA before Sunnydale. That's where she'd been called. She was a city girl, and he'd bet his fangs that she'd gone right back to her roots. Spike grinned, making a wide U-turn.

Bitch wouldn't know what hit her.

Finding her was easier said than done. It'd been a week, and he'd already visited every cemetery and scoped out every demon bar. Not a single undead soul seemed to know that the Slayer was even in LA, but Spike was sure that she was. She had to be! Where else would she go?

He couldn't wait to get his hands on her, feel her life leaving her body as he drained her veins. That'd show Drusilla. Gone soft…like hell.

They'd had fights before, him and Dru, but never like that. He'd never seen her look at him like that. Sent chills up and down his spine. But he didn't need her anyway. Bloody women, he thought bitterly. The whole lot were insane.

It was an hour till sunrise, and the vampire didn't have a choice but to just wander the streets. Los Angeles had no shortage of tasty treats, but he was tired of the old blood diet. He'd been anticipating a nice draught of Slayer blood, and nothing else compared. His eye caught a dingy sign.

Helen's Kitchen, eh? Why the hell not. Could go for a donut or two, or maybe they'd have one of those fancy onion things. He'd picked up some cash off a bloke awhile back, and he still had a couple bucks left after getting booze and cigarettes. Spike deserved a break from the hard work of slayer-hunting.

"Hi, welcome to Helen's Kitchen," a chubby redhead said lifelessly as he sprawled into a booth. "What can I get you to drink?"

He flipped the menu round carelessly. The black on his fingernails was almost gone, he'd have to swipe a new bottle from one of those teenybopper Goth girls. They were always up for a bite anyway. "I'd like some coffee, pet, if you please."

The girl—Kathy, according to her nametag—turned redder. She obviously had plenty of blood to go around. "S-sure thing."

Spike glanced around with vague curiosity. Some skinny bird in the back was stripping off her uniform. "Anne!" she yelled. "Get your butt down here, it's your shift!"

"Coming!"

He drummed his fingers on the table. Kathy gave him a furtive glance from the coffeemaker. Anne emerged, all perky and blonde and—

"No," he breathed.

That wasn't Anne. That was the Slayer. His eyes widened.

She couldn't see him, not yet. Not until it was the right time for him to kill her. It was too close to sunrise. Spike gritted his teeth and slid under the table. Good, she was chatting to the pale bird again. He took off running.

"Your coffee," Kathy said, but the booth previously occupied by the smoking hot punk guy was empty. She frowned, shrugged, and carried the pot back into the kitchen.

* * *

_Endnotes: _I love Willow voice. I just.


	3. Chapter 2

Killing Buffy Summers

Chapter Two: Bloody Sunday

* * *

It was time.

Anyone could tell you that Spike wasn't exactly the most patient vampire to ever unlive, and he didn't see a thing wrong with that. Tradition, rules, order…just wasn't his gig. All too fortunately, Slayer had a night shift too. He could do enough waiting for that.

He'd expected her to cotton on to his trailing. Her calling, after all. Maybe he should've realized then and there that the Slayer was really off her field, but he was a bit enthralled by the idea of what he'd do with her once he got her alone.

Alone to kill her, that is, and that's all he'd do, none of those namby-pamby notions that Dru was hellbent on seeing. No self-respecting vamp would ever go mushy for a Slayer, and if there was one thing Spike had (besides his devilish good looks), it was self-respect. He respected the _hell_ out of himself and did his best to make sure all the other nasties did the same. Couldn't go around shagging some Slayer—it'd ruin his whole reputation.

Not that he wanted to, anyway.

* * *

There she was, walking down the street like she didn't have a mortal enemy. Her hair, swept back in a ponytail, swished with every move. He bit his lip, restraining a growl. Purely predatory. And she was the prey.

Slayer didn't even glance down the alley where he hid, blanketed by the shadows. Was she that bloody confident, or had she damaged her brain after killing Angelus? He hoped it was the former. Confidence was fun to break.

Silently, he stalked her. The streetlight's glow reflected off the bit of neck exposed by her hair. Spike swallowed. God, she was a tasty treat. She was almost to the door.

It was time for him to make his move.

He hurtled forward. Gasping from the exhilaration, he took hold of her shoulders, spinning her around and pinning her to the wall. Her pretty—pretty bloody frustrating—eyes blinked once before their light faded into recognition. Pink lips parted.

"Spike," she said quietly, in a tone he couldn't quite place. The vampire grinned, giving her a cheeky wink.

"The one and only, Slayer. Scare you?" He raised an eyebrow, hoping to provoke a response. Slayer was always quick and witty with those.

"Not really," Buffy answered dully. "Better luck next time."

"'m here to finish what I started. Give your life a goodbye kiss, Slayer," Spike hissed, morphing effortlessly into game face.

He could feel her tense, but her face betrayed no emotion. "I'm not the Slayer, here, Spike. I'm just Anne."

The vampire chuckled. "Escaping your destiny isn't as easy as that, love." He leaned in, so close that he could feel her warm breath tickling his neck.

She didn't move. "Aren't you going to stop me, Slayer?" he murmured, nearly nipping her neck with his fangs. His eyes flitted to hers, anxious to gauge her reaction.

"It's _Anne_," she said firmly. "And no, Spike, I'm not going to stop you."

Before he could react, she had executed a well-practiced maneuver. Kicking his leg aside, she used his momentum to reverse their positions. He was pinned to the wall, and she looked at him. "I'm going to kill you."

That was more like it.

Spike's blood sang, but her eyes weren't triumphant or heroic. She looked—well, she looked like she'd had the life sucked out of her already.

He pushed up against her, relishing the contact, and freed his arm. She evaded his punch, eyes never leaving his. The vampire's legs slipped below hers and knocked her off-balance.

Something wasn't right, he realized too late.

The Slayer hit the pavement. He was on her in a flash, straddling her and holding her down. She squirmed, and he prepared for her to roll them over, take control. Tensed for the excitement, the blood rush. The struggle for control—this was what it was all about, the fighting, the banter, the—

Nothing. Her fingers were closed tight around her stake, but his hand covered her wrist and restrained her.

She squinted up at him. "Arent'cha going to bite me?"

"Aren't _you _going to dust me?" he echoed in confusion.

A little bit of hair fell in her face. His stomach went with it, but he couldn't tell you why. Bint was nearly smiling now, though her eyes were dead as dust.

"Don't tell me you got all souly," Slayer said, in a quiet taunt.

Spike puffed up. "Absolutely not! No bleedin' nancy-vamp here."

She shrugged, bringing him with her. Almost against his will, he felt his face return to human features. "Soooo...what's with the non-biting, then?"

"What's with the non-staking?" he challenged, lips twitching.

Buffy pursed her lips, finally looking away. "I told you, Spike. I'm not the Slayer here. If you're not going to try to bite me, get off already. You're wrinkling my skirt."

He sputtered. "Like hell I'll just take orders from you! What's wrong with you, Slayer?" Leaning close, Spike took a deep whiff. "Still human. You under a spell, baby?" He settled back and lifted her chin to look her in the eye.

She pushed his hand away with less force than he wanted. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you cared," the girl said sourly. "No spell, Spike. I'm just sick and tired of everybody trying to run my life. You, Angel, my family…"

"Hold up, pussycat." The vampire raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "'m not trying to run your life, just end it." He snickered a little.

Anne—Buffy—dammit, _Slayer_—narrowed her eyes and slugged him. The pain, at least, was what he'd remembered.

Holding his bloody nose with one hand, Spike sneered down at her. "Something you forgot, pet. I'm the one with the power." He punched her back.

Quick as a whip, she turned them over again, tumbling her body over his. He felt an involuntary gasp escape. She rose and kicked his side. "Go to hell, Spike," she said, hair falling in her face again like flecks of sunshine. "Or anywhere, really. Just stay out of Los Angeles and leave me alone."

"This isn't over, Slayer!" he called after her, standing up and brushing the dust off of his jacket.

"I'm not your Slayer."

Like hell. Bitch had completely cracked her marbles, was the only explanation. And he, well, he'd wanted a proper fight for his third Slayer-killing, was all. No mercy. He was William the Bloody, for God's sake, not William the Bleeding Heart.

And no matter what Dru said, he wasn't going soft. He'd been about to bite her, to taste that luscious Slayer blood again, but it just wouldn't be the same with her all lifeless. Takes the fun out, he thought. And if Angelus had been the one to make her like this, then all the better that he was dead. Wasn't right. Taking the life out of a Slayer is one thing, but taking the soul's another.

She had looked pretty pathetic, he'd give you that. Doe eyes all empty. She hadn't even smiled, really. Buffy liked fighting, it was one of his favorite things about her.

About fighting her, that is. Fighting her with the intent to kill. Like he would the next time he saw her. Just an off night, that's all. But he could bide his time.

"All right, pet," he said aloud. "Big Bad doesn't give up quite that easy."

He straightened his jacket and strode back off.

* * *

_End notes: I am the biggest sucker for denial that the world of fanfic has ever known._


	4. Chapter 3

Killing Buffy Summers

Chapter Three: Crash

* * *

"It wasn't bloody mercy. Don't you understand pride? No good to kick the Slayer when she's down, when I wasn't even the one to put her there, you see?"

Spike drummed his fingers on the bar counter. The hairy red demon next to him inspected him, twitching all three sets of lips.

"I dunno, man," he said skeptically. "You used to do it all the time. Or so I heard."

The vampire took a drag of his smoke. What had his unlife come to? Convincing some snaggletoothed nasty that he wasn't soft on the Slayer. It was like they all thought he'd turned into some prancing ninny like Angel.

"That's right," Spike said, with fake patience. "That's what you heard about me, mate. When you heard that I massacred _half of Europe_. Learn to respect your elders." He exhaled the smoke.

Taylor—what a nancy androgynous name—started coughing. Spike watched him in dull amusement. "Could you not do that around me? Some of us are still alive to get lung cancer. The danger is real, man."

"Look, I just want to know what the word is on Buf—the Slayer." He lowered his voice. "How long has she been in LA, how long has she been off the job, et cetera."

Taylor shrugged his bare, spiky shoulders. "Heard she's been layin' pretty low. My buddy Johnny saw her the other day in that diner, Ellen's—"

"Helen's." Spike locked eyes with the bartender. "'nother one of these, if you please." He shook his empty glass.

"Yeah, yeah, _Helen's_ Kitchen. Said he walked right by and she didn't even blink an eye, man. She's really off the wagon. Pretty tasty, though."

"What?"

Taylor grinned. "Helen's Kitchen. I mean, it's kind of a greasy spoon, but their omelets, oh my God. It's like I died and went to demon heaven."

"I think they call it hell, mate," Spike commented.

"Yeah, there. Hey, but if you do manage to kill her, call me, okay? Always up for a good party." And with another too bright grin, the demon slid (quite literally) out of his chair.

Spike tossed down his fag and stomped it out. He eyed a lovely neck from across the room and noticed that it was attached to a drop-dead woman. Too bad he'd already dropped a century ago, and for once, he wasn't really in the mood for a drink of the bloody variety. Booze was going to about do it for him tonight.

What he needed was some gen on the Slayer. Figure out what was going on with her and how he could stop it, make her right.

"It's not your place to do so," a deep female voice said.

Spike whipped around. Why hadn't he heard her coming? She looked human, but she smelled plastic. She smiled, twisting a strand of her purple hair around a long finger. Something in her eyes…

"You're a seer," he said.

She gave a slight nod, staring into him with those freaky eyes.

Spike raised his hands. "What d'you want, then, love?"

"It would be best to ask what you want…'love'." Her voice was flat.

He finished off his glass and looked at her. Wasn't too fond of psychics and all their nonsense. As much as he'd loved—_loves_—Dru, the bird was like a steel trap when it came to any info worth having. All the others he'd met had been so bloody vague that he'd have been better off going in blind. But his usual methods weren't turning up much. He needed her.

"You already know what I want, pet," he murmured, eyes flicking away as if Slayer would appear any second. _Real_ Slayer, rosy and self-righteous, not this empty bint in L.A.

The seer blinked luxuriously. "Tell me anyway."

"All right, well, I came to L.A. lookin' for a good fight—and kill—with the Slayer, but she's cracked it. Goin' around calling herself 'Anne' and…and workin' at a diner. It's not right. I followed her home and tried to finish it but I couldn't. I need to make her what she was, understand?"

Her blank expression continued. Spike waved a hand in front of her eyes; she caught and twisted it in an instant. She released it, but her eyes remained wide and frantic.

"Why do you need this?" she asked urgently.

Spike furrowed his brow in confusion. "Because…she's not right. So I'm not right. We're enemies, but she's still caught up in Angelus. I want it to be us at the end, squaring off. I don't want to win against a shell."

"You have feelings for her," the seer hissed, eyes suddenly glowing. Literally.

The vampire stumbled back. "Dammit!" he muttered. "Why do all…I'm _not_…we're not. I'm her worst enemy, so of course I want her to be…_her_. Makes sense."

The seer looked away, finally. Good. He'd seen a lot, but those eyes still gave him the willies. "Why don't you go be enemies, then?"

Spike set his jaw. "I will. I'll show you—and Dru—that I don't give a damn about the Slayer 'cept that I want to be the one to kill her. I want to sip her blood firsthand. I want to feel the life leaving her body. I…I want to watch those eyes dull and lose hold. I want that _power_. I want—"

The seer yawned.

"All right, I'm going."

* * *

The door clanged open. Buffy didn't look up. "Welcome to Helen's Kitchen. I'll be your server, Anne."

"Hey, Anne, you wanna go in the back with me?" one of the rowdy teenagers offered. She shook her head and shoved a menu in his face.

"What can I get you to drink?" Buffy asked dully. She knew night had fallen, and some faint mix of fear and exhilaration was creeping up on her. She didn't really feel like Buffy-Buffy, Slayer-Buffy, that is, but she wasn't Anne tonight. Weird as it was, fighting Spike the other night had felt almost right. She had been back doing what she was called to, even though she didn't dust him.

Come to think of it, why was he even here? After…back in Sunnydale, he'd said that he and Drusilla would go somewhere far away, and he'd seemed pretty enthusiastic about it. Could Buffy expect to see the other vampire next?

"_Anne_," a woman said, and she snapped out of her reverie. The customer gestured to her empty mug, and Buffy-Anne hurried over with the coffee.

"I'm so sorry, it's just…it's been a long night and…"

The woman smiled. She was a regular, Buffy knew, but she didn't know her name. "It's okay," she said softly. "You know, I used to work in one of these places."

Buffy raised an eyebrow as she poured the coffee. "Really? How old were you?"

"First year out of high school. I thought I was so independent…living on my own. I worked two jobs and made enough to go to school. That wasn't my plan, though. I'd wanted to be on TV." Her eyes clouded with fondness at the memory.

"Wow."

The woman looked back up, as if remembering that Buffy-Anne existed. "I'm Krista, by the way. I don't think I've introduced myself."

Awkwardly, Buffy shook her hand. "I'm…well, Anne, but you knew that already."

Krista gestured over Buffy-Anne's shoulder. "I think you've got a customer, Anne. I should let you go."

Buffy turned and groaned.

"Leave me alone, Spike," she hissed, knowing that his vampire hearing would pick up on it. "Don't fight me here."

"What's the fun in that?" he replied loudly. "I want to see where you work, love. I gotta say, it doesn't compare to your old job, but I guess you're more fit for pouring coffee than kicking ass."

"Is that your boyfriend?" Krista muttered, but Anne was gone.

Like a flash, Buffy crossed the room and grabbed Spike by the collar of his duster. "Get the _hell_ out, Spike."

"Excuse me, Anne, is there a problem?"

It was like a torpedo in Buffy's chest. The manager. She swallowed and tried to smile brightly. "No, no problem at all."

* * *

_End Notes: _I didn't mean to write so many OCs into this chapter, they just...happened.


	5. Chapter 4

Killing Buffy Summers

Chapter Four: Hit Me Like A Man

* * *

The blow landed squarely on his chin, knocking him back. Felt like he'd been hit by a car, but it was worse than that—he'd been hooked by a furiously brassed-off Slayer. Spike slid a hand under his chin and spit out the blood welling up. "Nice to see you back to your old self," he commented.

She wasn't, though. Her eyes were frantic with rage, sure enough, but she wasn't thinking the fight, she was just living out her anger. "You got me _fired_ from my job, you piece of scum," she said, choking out the words.

"Hey." He shrugged. "I'm evil, love, or did you forget?"

Buffy glared. At least she was that, now, even if she wasn't Slayer properly. She had dropped any pretense of being Anne. Spike grinned and breathed that in, the smell of a good fight. He felt it coming on. Saw it in how her every muscle tenses, and a thrill of anticipation coursed through him.

Spike set his jaw. "Do me your worst."

She launched forward, propelled by her fury. He sidestepped her, barely brushing their bodies together. Buffy twisted out of his grip, throwing a right hook at his chin again. This time he saw it coming and dodged deftly.

His hands found her shoulders again and pushed her. Instead of stumbling back, though, she used the energy to push her back into a flip and readied herself again. If he'd had a living heart, it would have been pounding right about then.

Buffy executed a swift kick, but he jumped out of its way. Spike glanced around at their surroundings. This alley wasn't exactly the prime location he'd've picked for their big damn showdown. Not much to help a bloke out, mostly just trash cans and the like. Still, he hadn't bagged two Slayers for naught. He knew what he was doing.

God, she was so alive. It was like she was pure electricity. Even when she stumbled back from his solid roundhouse, she was lightning made human. For an instant, he could see in her what Angel must have. She was enough to turn any man's head.

But he had to keep his thoughts on the fight or she'd turn his head another way entirely. Spike took one punch, but when she followed it up with another high kick he grabbed her leg and pulled her down.

She gasped for air, but the next thing he knew she was using his momentum against him. Buffy flipped him down onto the pavement, and he growled as his face met the concrete. The vampire used his free arm to give her a good purler before rolling out of her grasp. He rose, still a little shaky but intoxicated by the fight.

"This is bloody fantastic, Goldilocks," he said, only half-joking. "Think I needed this."

She glared at him from her crouched position. "Yeah, it's been awhile since my last good slay."

Spike swaggered forward, eyes on hers. Buffy took her fighting stance again. "Not too rusty for an _ex_-Slayer."

They were falling into a pattern, taking some of the hits and anticipating the rest. Almost like a conversation…or a dance. "Nice to see we're on the same page," he said as she brushed off another punch.

"Would it kill you to stop talking?" she growled, pushing back his arm until it popped. Buffy delivered a strong kick to his stomach, slamming him against the trash cans.

Spike straightened, adjusting his jacket. "Don't know, love, but I don't plan to find out any time soon." She aimed another job at him, but he moved away, pushing her forward. The Slayer hit the wall.

"Well, if you're going to talk my ear off anyway," she said dully, "you might as well tell me where your girlfriend is off to. Is she planning to ambush me halfway through? Fixing the odds is kind of your style, isn't it, _Spikey_?" Another kick to the gut.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Sorry to disappoint you, but it's just me, pet. Dru and I parted ways." His punch connected with her face, but she returned it in half a second.

"You mean she dumped you?" Buffy tried a spin kick, but he threw her backwards and launched himself at her sprawled form. Her roll wasn't quick enough, and she was caught between him and the ground.

He felt strangely dizzy. "And what if I dumped her, little girl?" Spike leered even as she tossed him up against the wall.

Slayer leaned in, eyes all alight again. He could drink her right up.

"With the way you always followed her like a lost puppy dog?" she taunted. "Not likely."

"Like you were so much better with your little boy toy." Spike paused, as if remembering. "Oh yeah, before he turned into a psycho bastard. Really know how to pick 'em, don't you, Buffy?"

He reckoned she'd get up in his face, punch him, insult Dru, whatever. Instead, she looked away.

_Damn_. She was sulking again.

Hastily, he added, "Just like you know how to pick your bloody outfits. Who gave you that sweater, your great-grandmum?"

Slayer looked back at him, pure fire licking in her eyes. Before he could react, she shoved him against the wall with righteous indignation. "Excuse me, peroxide boy, but where do you get off critiquing _my_ fashion choices? You own, what, two outfits?"

"I happen to be very fashionable," he protested, smirking.

Buffy slugged him. He punched her back, and they tussled for a moment before tumbling to the ground. She pinned him down fiercely. "You're kidding me, right? You wear that jacket—"

"'s called a duster, love," he said.

"Pretty much every freaking day," she said, finishing her statement.

Spike rolled them, pushing her to the ground. A wisp of blonde hair fell into her eyes, and he brushed it away a little slower than he meant to. To intimidate her, like. Take a page from Angelus's book.

"My duster," he declared, "is a bloody conversation piece, and don't you forget it. Snagged it from a Slayer in New York."

"Stole it, you mean," Buffy said, grunting as she threw him off. His arms caught the wall, reducing the impact of the hit. The vampire grinned. Girl had stamina.

Didn't mean he'd take her snide comments about his duster lying down, though. "Mine by right, baby. Spoils of battle an' all that."

"When?" she asked quietly.

Hmm. Curious about the Big Bad, was she? Well, he'd indulge her. Needed to catch his breath, anyway—figuratively speaking.

"'77. Hell of a year. Hell of a fight, too. She was a fierce one," he said fondly.

"I bet she'd been through a lot," Buffy said softly, almost to herself. He was watching her. There was something…he couldn't pin it down.

Not that he cared about that bitch, anyway. Still, know your enemy. He usually went for just the "beat your enemy's ass and drink their blood" strategy, but Spike would be the first to admit that the Slayer was a lot smarter than she looked. Kept her weaknesses to herself; all business, that one. And no pleasure, or at least not anymore. Not after what had happened with Angel, he supposed.

He was thinking so hard on her that he almost missed her coming at him. Just in time, he shot out his arm and stopped her blow. "You wanna know more about her, cutie?" he taunted, twisting back her wrist. She'd gone almost limp, and her eyes were dark. No more spark. "And the other Slayer I killed?" He let the word play over his mouth, tongue teasing his teeth. _C'mon, take the bait_.

But she was stumbling back, weak. A last rush prompted him to push her down. Made a right satisfying noise.

Spike stood over the Slayer. He wanted her eyes to be wide with righteousness or fear or desire or anger.

They were like burned-out candles.

Almost possessed, he whipped around and ran.

* * *

_End Notes: _This might be the longest fight scene I've ever written.


	6. Chapter 5

Killing Buffy Summers

Chapter Five: Darling, I Want To Destroy You

* * *

Spike stopped in front of the door and looked up. No, this couldn't be right. Something was wonked-up with his nose. There was no way that Buffy—

But there she was, taking an order from some wellied slobberer. At least she wasn't the bartender. Or a dancing girl, for that matter, though he'd pay just to see Little Miss Righteous being all sinful.

The vampire swaggered over to the bar and climbed onto the stool. "Uh, miss?" he called, in his most faux-polite tone. "I'd like to order some food to go with my drink, please miss."

A cheerful smile plastered on her face, Buffy approached. "How are _you_ tonight, Spike?" she said through her teeth.

"Better than you. Slipping ever further down the latter, aren't you, sweet?" He jerked his head toward the mini-stage. "Be up there next, I expect."

"In your dreams. Besides, there is one good thing about this place."

"And what's that?" He took a long swallow of his drink.

The Slayer raised an eyebrow. "They don't have a problem with fights here. I could dust you before they even noticed."

"Don't see a stake on you," the vampire observed. "Besides, love, you owe me."

"For, what, getting me fired? Ruining my L.A. life?" she asked, in that fiery tone. God, he loved it.

Didn't mean he'd take what she gave him. "I let you live. _Twice_, Summers."

Her little mouth dropped open. "And I owe you for that? You're kidding me, Spike. Do you know how many times I've let you live? Or…unlive. Whatever."

"That's not the—"

"Order. Now. Or I _will_ stake you," she threatened, shoving a laminated menu in his face. Her hands were trembling ever so slightly, but with anger or fear he couldn't tell. She was so sexy when she was threatening to kill him. Of course, he was thinking this in just a…predatory way. Like a feral cat or some like.

Spike didn't look at the menu. "You serve wings?"

Buffy shook her head.

"Damn. Those blooming onion things?"

"Yeah, they're a big hit," she said.

"Gimme one of those," he replied, grinning. He fumbled for a cigarette and lit it. When the Slayer didn't leave, he looked back up at her. "What, love? You want one? You really have turned into a bad girl. I've heard that L.A. does that."

"Ew, God no," she said, scrunching up her nose. "Just…you are gonna pay for this, right?"

Spike raised his eyebrows. "You're doubting me? Oh, that's rich, Buffy. 'Course I'll pay. Not gonna say it's clean money, but I'll pay."

"Ugh, whatever." She took back the menu and left.

He couldn't help but notice that she wasn't herself like she'd been the other night during their big fight. Slayer was gone again, and Buffy'd barely met his eyes. She hadn't even seemed like she wanted to fight him.

"The hell is it gonna take to get her guard down?" he mused.

And then it hit him.

* * *

"Light red, you said?" repeated the rather tasty bird at the counter. Her light blue polo was just barely exposing her full veins.

Spike sighed. "Yes, that's what I said. Light red carnations. You know…fascination, admiration?" He could go for a nip of that one's neck any time, but she seemed to be one twist short of a slinky.

"Sorry, sir, I don't know all the meanings," she said as she prepared the flowers. "Admiration and fascination, huh? Makes a nice rhyme."

He grimaced. "Yeah, well, don't put it in a poem. Already tried that."

"Really?" The girl widened her blue eyes. "You don't seem like the type…if you don't mind me saying so."

The vampire sniffed. "It was a long time ago. I was…a different bloke back then."

"I see." She told him the price, and he frowned as he put the cash on the counter. He was going to have to drink someone wealthy pretty soon, that's for sure. "We do notes for no extra charge, you know," she added.

Well, he was an all-or-nothing sort anyway. "I'd like to say it's from a secret admirer. Keep it anonymous and all that."

* * *

"I don't get it."

Spike sighed. This G'Snoth demon was as dumb as the rock he'd crawled out from under. "Look, mate. What's the Slayer's biggest weakness?"

The G'Snoth wrinkled its middle nose. "Uh…her family?"

"Besides them," Spike said impatiently. Come to think of it, though, that was a thought. Joyce and Buffy must have been on the outs, but maybe her old man could do the trick. Be a good backup plan, anyway. But he wouldn't need one.

The demon frowned. "Geez, man, I don't know. Didn't her boyfriend get sent to hell?"

The vampire snapped his fingers. "Exactly. Dear, darling Angel. And who was responsible for his demise?"

"Uh…the Slayer?" he said unsurely.

"Damn right, the Slayer." He flashed a cheeky grin. "She sent her lover to hell for the sake of the world, and now she hates herself—and the world—for it. Right angry, you see. Bitter. And she's got a right to be."

"I still don't get it," said the G'Snoth. He scratched the back of his hairy head. "Hey, you're buying another round, right?"

"Look," Spike growled. "Buffy's _vulnerable_."

"I thought you said she beat you."

He glared. "She didn't. I bested her the first time, and the second, well…I made a strategic exit, that's all. Anyway, I didn't mean physically. She's emotionally vulnerable, all 'woe is me'. Probably thinks she's worthless double over, for killing Angelus and for skipping town on her friends."

"Right," the G'Snoth said slowly.

"So suddenly she gets gifts, letters, et cetera. Real romantic stuff, telling her all the things that Angel isn't around to tell her. What does she do?"

The demon looked blank.

"She drops her guard," Spike explained, tapping his fingers on the counter with restrained excitement. "She lets herself enjoy things again, turns into the Slayer again. I fight her, I kill her, poof. No more Buffy."

"So…" The G'Snoth furrowed his chin. "You want to make her fall in love with you…so you can kill her."

"Not love," Spike said hastily. "Just…happiness."

"You want to make her happy."

"Yeah."

"By making her fall in love with you."

Spike threw up his hands. "Why are you so bloody stuck on that? There is no love going around and I don't know why everybody keeps insisting that there is." He slammed his fist down on the counter; the bartender raised his eyebrows. "Dammit. I just…want a good fight, is all."

The G'Snoth sighed. "Look, uh…Spike, sounds like you've got a textbook case of denial. Trust me, I totally get it. Well…not the falling in love with a human thing, cause…ew. But my old buddy, he—"

The vampire lost it.

"I am not in love with the bloody Slayer!" He stood up and straightened his jacket. God, he was almost trembling with rage. "I want to _kill_ her to prove to Dru that…that I don't. All right? That's what this is about, and if you say another damned word about me being in _love_ with her, I'll rip your throat out and feed you to the sewers."

Silence fell over the bar.

"Look," the demon said nervously. "I wasn't trying to…to rile you up, it just…I was mistaken. Uh…but are you sure this secret admirer thing will work? It sounds kind of risky."

"Bollocks," Spike muttered. "It'll work. Slayer'll be playing right into my hands. Just wait and see."

* * *

Buffy sighed. It'd been a long night at work. As if her last job didn't suck enough, now she had to work in a nightclub. It felt…ooghy. Still, it paid the bills. She just wished the creepy customers would leave her alone.

"Dump sweet dump," she said to herself, sliding out her key. Her foot brushed against something, and she bent down to investigate.

Flowers. She couldn't tell what kind, in the dark—okay, even in the light she probably wouldn't have been able to. Not really her thing. They were pink or red, though. Buffy opened the door and flicked on the light switch. Red. Not blood red, at least.

Another round of "Try-Not-To-Think-About-Angel". Her least favorite game, but she had to play it every day.

Oh. There was a note.

"From a secret admirer," she read aloud. She grimaced. "Why won't these sick creeps just leave me alone?"

The ex-Slayer tossed the flowers into the trash can and crawled into bed.

* * *

_End Notes: _And thus marks the halfway point of this story. We've still got a ways to go!


	7. Chapter 6

Killing Buffy Summers

Chapter Six: I Want You [She's So Heavy]

* * *

"Bloody hell!" he muttered under his breath, letting the door clang behind him.

The bleedin' Slayer had tossed his flowers—of course, she didn't know they were his, but that was beside the point. She was supposed to fall arse over tip for this secret admirer, not throw him into the bin. No way wooin' Buffy should be that hard—Angel'd managed it even with the soul holding him back.

"What gives?" Spike wondered aloud.

Damn. Those flowers hadn't been cheap, either.

Alright, maybe carnations weren't her gig. He vaguely remembered Angelus mentioning roses, but he wasn't going to try more bloody flowers. Dru had always liked it when he brought back a fresh little girl, but somehow he doubted Buffy wanted child's blood as a lover's gift.

Not that he was her lover, obviously. Or wanted to be. It was all for her sake—Dru's. Make Buffy happy, destroy her, run off into the bloody sunset. That was his plan.

Right.

So maybe the next best thing. Always put a grin on his face, after all, even after Dru left him. Slayer wouldn't go for bourbon, though. On the telly, they always used wine for such as this (Dru couldn't hold her alcohol, so he'd only tried that once). Might as well give that a go.

* * *

Her boot clanked against something, and she leaned down to inspect it.

Oh, not again. Her fingers gripped a bottle, and as she pushed the door open, Buffy could tell it was wine. A note was attached with a ribbon.

"To lighten your day," she read. "From your secret admirer."

The ex-Slayer (ex-ex-Slayer? she still wasn't sure if she was back in the biz or not) groaned. "You're an idiot, secret admirer. Well…I mean, not just for admiring me, but also, I mean—"

* * *

"No. Get out, Spike," Buffy said flatly.

"Can't deny me service, pet," he answered easily, sliding onto a bar stool like he'd been born on one. "Your job, innit?"

She gritted her teeth. "You are the biggest pain in my ass," she informed him. "Or maybe second biggest. That secret admirer guy is pretty bad."

"Yeah?" Spike feigned surprise. "He sent you something else, did he?"

"A bottle of wine."

"That's right thoughtful."

A weaker vampire might have burst into flames just at that glare. "I don't drink, Spike. Not to mention, I don't even know the creep. How sketch city is it to just give a girl a bottle of wine? It could be drugged or—poisoned or something. Besides, he obviously doesn't know me at all."

"Er, why's that, love?" He drummed his fingers on the counter, trying to look uninterested.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "If he had, he would have brought me chocolate. Or ice cream. Ooh, or chocolate ice cream," she said, eyes lighting up in that way he loved.

Loved in the strictly platonic/enemy sense. No romantic implications whatsoever.

"Well, at least he's trying," Spike offered.

"I guess." She sighed. "I wish he wouldn't. Why are you so interested anyway?"

He shrugged. "Got nothing better to do."

"How about ordering something?"

Alright. Flowers were out. Wine was out. He could do chocolate, yeah. Would've thought about it anyway, of course. She'd just accelerated that particular mental process.

* * *

"Must be a special girl."

"Yeah," he said absently. How was a bloke supposed to figure out what kind of chocolate to get? He hadn't expected there to be so many. Would Buffy want almonds, hazelnut, raspberry? Some of the chocolates even had numbers on them, percentages. Too bloody complicated if you asked him.

He could feel the shop girl's eyes watching him. God, why were these places always run by bloody women? Not that he minded the view, but men weren't half this chatty. Sure, Spike was known for bein' a bit too fond of running his mouth, but why the bloody hell was every bird in LA dead set on the details of his personal life? Like being stalked by the bloody _Sun_.

"So you gonna write her a poem to go with this? You don't look like the type," the girl said.

"For your information, I happen to write very _decent_—"

He paused. The girl looked like she was about to burst like a dam. She tried to hide her sniffles behind a hand.

_Oh, bugger_.

She favored the Slayer a bit, but without the violent grace that made her so…well, dangerous. Like Buffy if she was really only Buffy.

"Hey," he said, in what he hoped was a soothing tone.

The girl angrily wiped away a tear. "You're all the same. You just…suck the life out of us, make yourself look better than you are so you can eat us up."

"That's truer than you realize, love."

"So what's different about this girl, then?" she demanded. "Perfect boobs? Easy? A redhead?"

He chuckled. "None of the above."

She didn't look terribly convinced.

"Look," Spike said. "This woman is more than that, all right? She's a bleedin' fantasy, and I don't mean that in a purely physical way. She _knows_ things, feels 'em right in her soul. Can stare right through you, feel what you're feeling. And god, talk about selfless. She lit'rally gives her life away for humans, the whole ungrateful lot of 'em. Don't get it much, personally, but it gives you faith, right?"

He didn't even realize that he was almost bouncing with nervous energy. His mouth was running, but he just couldn't stop the flow of words.

"An'…an' she makes a bloke feel like he could be more, could be better. Can't say as I've always been the most upright of folks, and 'm not ashamed of it, but she makes me feel…well, like I should be, innit. To top it all off, she's the strongest person I know in every sort of way. Carries the pressure that would kill a dozen lessers."

Spike nearly had to bite his lip to make himself end there.

"What's her name?" the girl asked grudgingly. Her eyes were focused just next to him, as if she were trying to picture this fantasy woman. At least she'd stopped crying.

He tried to hesitate. "Buffy."

Would have been poetic to say that it was a sudden revelation, like a brick wall crashing in on him or window blinds opening to reveal the daylight. It wasn't like that at all.

It was more like getting drunk. Not intentionally, just boozin' with a few mates. He knew with each sip he'd be getting drunker and drunker, but he could avoid thinking of it until he bloody well fell over.

Er, fell over emotionally, in this case.

"Dumb name," the girl said, and it took him a second to remember what she was even talking about.

"It is," he agreed dully, still too lost in his own emotions to give much thought to anybody else. "But _damn_, I love her anyway."

Dru was never gonna let him hear the end of this.

* * *

_End Notes: _Sorry it took so long for this update!


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